


Night Wings

by Storycat9



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nightmare, Post-Season/Series 04, Wing Grooming, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:55:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26339884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Storycat9/pseuds/Storycat9
Summary: Chloe wakes around 2:30 a.m. when the soft feathers she fell asleep on become a leathery dragon wing. Lucifer’s having another nightmare.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 27
Kudos: 358
Collections: Flap Flap Bitches





	Night Wings

Chloe wakes around 2:30 a.m. after the soft bow of feathers she fell asleep on turned into a leathery wing sometime in the night. Lucifer’s having another nightmare.

It’s been years, but it still happens often as not. Just a little less often than it did when he first came back. In the bitter part of her heart Chloe knows loving him her whole life will never match even the centuries of his "work trip" to Hell just before they got together for real.

But she can help with this, at least. She’ll take small blessings.

Gingerly, Chloe turns over and nudges the clawed thumb that poked her. Lucifer’d be horrified, if he were awake.

She won’t wake him unless she has to.

Lucifer mutters in his sleep, growls a little in Lilim. She still can’t speak it, but knows enough to recognize when he does. His skin is still smooth, so perhaps he’s not too far in, or it’s not too bad a dream. When he’s already full devil mode she just holds on as tightly as she can and wakes him up; long practice says it’s better to get him out of the dream faster even if he probably won’t get back to sleep or back to his non-crispy self for the rest of the night.

For now, Chloe’s got a shot at getting ahead of it. 

A little blearily, she strokes the bony wing ridge closest to her. Long, slow touches, first with her fingertips, then the back of her knuckles, as she’d rub a cat’s chin. 

“Shh, love. You’re with me,” she whispers against his shoulder. “You’re safe.”

The growl softens a little almost immediately, a confused sound. His wing stretches out against her, and Chloe smiles, splaying her hands lightly against the wide inner wings. They’re so much stronger than a bat’s delicate membranes, and still softer than kid leather, pushing back into her palms.

Lucifer dislikes these wings. It’s less now than earlier in their relationship when he _loathed_ them, when the sight of them sent him into a spiral of depression that could take hours or days to break. She huffs to herself at the sheer _Luciferness_ of it, even now; only a former archangel could sneer at huge dragon wings. But Chloe has blanket permission to love any part of him she wants to, and she’s always rather loved the brilliant red wings. One disastrous costume party notwithstanding, Chloe first saw them fully unfurled when he cowed a crowd of rebellious demons at the Mayan; she still associates them with protection and power rather than the bittersweet memory of loss that his angel wings can call up for her sometimes. 

Chloe never moves out of the circle of his arms--that can be disastrous during a bad dream--but she leans up on her elbow, reaching over to smooth as much of his wing as she can. Long, soft, sure strokes. Whispers of safety and love that will make no sense in any Hellscape Lucifer might find himself in. 

His body turns instinctively toward succor, his other wing curving over her. His arms cuddle her against his side and he buries his head against her neck. A long shudder goes through him. 

Chloe stays on her back, hooking her left arm under his neck to comb her fingers through his hair as she reaches up with her right hand to pet his other wing. “You’re so beautiful, love,” she murmurs. “You never belonged in Hell. You're not going back there. You’re home. You’re with me.”

She waits long minutes, stroking his wings and his hair, speaking love against his skin. Awake, in sunlight, doing this with a slightly different pressure could render him a trembling, orgasmic wreck--and oh, how she loves to wreck him and put him back together smiling. Now, the pleasure's just a tapping on his shoulder, a pounding on the glass: _Hey, wherever you are right now, it's not real. Come home._

His eyes slit open, flickering hellfire at her, but still mostly asleep. She kisses him on the forehead, over each burning eye, on lips parting in a little surprise, as always, to find her here. 

“Chloe?” he breathes against her mouth.

“Here, love.”

“Mhmmm.”

Gentle dark fills up his gaze before his eyes close again, and one hand cups her cheek. 

He tilts his forehead against her own and wraps her more securely against him. His wings enfold her, soft and strong embracing her for a moment before folding away to whatever pocket of the universe they go. She tucks her head down against his neck and closes her eyes again, hoping to grab a few more hours before the alarm.

He won’t remember the dream in the morning, but his wings remember her touch.


End file.
